


The Sword and the Psychic

by dragonnan



Category: Psych
Genre: Big Owchie, Blood and Gore, Early Work, Gen, Major Character Injury, Not Recommended Medical Procedures, Pretty sure the rescue method would fail miserably, Shawn Whump, Unconventional Weapons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 17:30:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7901488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonnan/pseuds/dragonnan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shawn's distaste of pointy things is taken to new heights.  </p><p>Originally posted to my Psychfic short story series, "Just Pieces; Passion, Pain, & Parody".  This story was written around 2009.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pain

Shawn swallowed, arms raised and backing away from the blade that waved just beneath his chin.  He didn’t get very far, however, before his back collided with the wall behind him.  The part of himself that wasn’t blindly terrified was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that the guy had a SWORD.  Seriously, who did he think he was, Duncan McLeod?

 

The sword jabbed forward, and he flinched back, smacking his skull against the wall in an effort to avoid the flashing tip.  The man behind the length of steel chuckled, hunching his shoulders slightly.  Shawn could see what was coming, and only had time to widen his eyes when the other man lunged again.

 

Instinctively, he struck out with his left hand.  The blade missed his heart but not his body as it plunged into his right shoulder, forcing a shriek as it ripped straight though to bury itself in the wall.  He made a strangled sound, both hands grabbing the metal, when the man tried to yank it free again and it didn’t budge.  Angrily, the guy redoubled his efforts, and Shawn cried out in agony as the honed edge scraped against his collarbone.  A crash from somewhere else in the darkened office building startled his attacker.  With a furious growl, the man released the sword hilt and darted back towards the exit.  He made it about six steps before a large gun was shoved in his face.

 

 ** _“SBPD, ON THE GROUND NOW- NOW!!!”_**   Lassiter held his weapon trained between than man’s eyes.  He halted, his fingers twitching as he seemed to consider his options… then ultimately realize he had none.  Finally, giving in, he dropped to his knees.  As the swarm of cops surrounded the man, Shawn closed his eyes, jerking in pain and gasping as his body started to sag.  He bit down hard on his lower lip to keep from screaming again. 

 

Eyes still squeezed together, he heard distinctive footsteps rapidly approaching.

 

“Spencer, sweet mother… there’s a **_sword_** in your shoulder...” 

 

He would have laughed if he wasn’t so busy trying not to cry.

 

“Lassy- I didn’t think you’d n-noticed!  I put it on just f-for you!”   In spite of his words, his voice had a strained, begging quality that he couldn’t quite suppress.

 

 ** _“WE NEED PARAMEDICS IN HERE NOW!_**   Spencer, try not to move…”  He was more than ready with a response to the ‘obvious’ when he felt a hand carefully touch his arm.

 

“AAAAGHHH- HURTS, HURTS!!”  Lassiter immediately jerked his hand away, and Shawn titled his head back as he fought to keep standing.  It didn’t help that he was starting to feel dizzy. 

 

 ** _“WHERE THE HELL ARE THOSE PARAMEDICS!?”_**   He appreciated the request, but the volume wasn’t doing his head any favors. 

 

“Just, d-don’t touch me again…”  He half-whispered, lifting one leg off the floor as his body tried to curl into itself.  He slid again, and felt a bolt of nausea at the indescribable sensation that resulted.  He clamped his lips together forcefully, holding in two separate manifestations of his distress, but a muffled humming-growl managed to get through.  The effort left him breathless, and his chest hitched as he inhaled sharply through his nose.  Still standing in front of him, Lassiter’s hands raised quickly, then stopped, hovering centimeters from his arms.  Minutely he shook his head, and the detective backed away again.

 

There was the sound of agitated yelling, and then he saw the top of Gus’s head as the other man pushed though the milling crowd of officers. 

 

“…oing on, is Shawn oka… Oh my Go…”

 

“Gus- hey…”  He responded tightly, overriding his friend’s horrified exclamation.

 

“SHAWN!  Shawn, you’ve got a…”

 

“Sword in my shoulder, yeah.  I was t-thinking of getting a m-matching one for the other side, what do you- _huh_ \- t-think?”  It was getting really difficult to sound nonchalant as another jolt of pain radiated down his body.  His legs were starting to shake, and his fear jumped at the thought of what would happen if he blacked out.  Also, he really wanted to wipe the sweat out of his eyes.  However, even lifting the arm NOT impaled by two and a half feet of metal was more movement than he could tolerate.  Clutching at the wall instead, he made another mangled growl and stiffened his spine.

 

When he finally opened his eyes again, the worried Lassiter had been replaced by a sickened Gus.

 

“Dude…” His friend managed weakly. 

 

Shawn lifted his chin slightly.  “Think you can s-score me a couple of pain killers?”  He may have smiled, but he was pretty sure Gus saw right through him.  Either way, a renewed bustle of activity at the doorway distracted them both from continued conversation.

 

Shawn could not possibly have been happier to see guys in starched white shirts than he was right then.

 

“You know, with a couple pieces of pepper and an o-onion I could be all set for the grill…”  He said lightly, trying to ignore the steady drip off the ends of his fingers.

 

The first paramedic to reach him paled noticeably, but merely offered a quick smile and a token “It’ll be okay” before turning to the rest of the medical techs and barking out urgent commands.  Turning back to Shawn, his eyes held a degree of pity.  “Hey there buddy…”

 

“Shawn.”

 

“Shawn- I have some things I’m gonna need you to put up with for a little bit before we can get you out of this, okay?”

 

Shawn gave a small nod.

 

“Okay.  Now, to start with, and I know it doesn’t seem fair, but we can’t give you any heavy painkillers yet.  We can’t risk you collapsing and making this worse.  I can, though, give you something that will help to numb the immediate area of the wound.”

 

Shawn frowned.  “What, like Novocain?”

 

“Similar, it’s called chloroprocaine…”

 

Gus spoke up immediately.  “Shawn is allergic to chloroprocaine.”

 

Shawn’s brow furrowed.  “I am?”

 

Gus shook his head.  “Remember eighth grade when we got into a altercation with Jeremy Doogan, and you ended up in the hospital with a pencil in your…”

 

“Oohh…. Right.”  He glancing over at the paramedic, Sam- he noted from the badge, and slid one foot out a bit to steady himself again.  “I’m allergic to chloro… chlora… thingy.”

Gus turned back to Sam.  “Do you have any Ropivacaine?”   

The man nodded, kneeling down to open his case.  “I’ll have to keep the dose small, I don’t want to risk dizziness.” 

Shawn watched as the syringe was filled partway with clear fluid.  Flicking the side of the needle with his finger, Sam squirted a tiny stream in the air before standing again.  Shawn turned his head away, closing his eyes tightly and scrunching his face.  When the needle went in he whimpered pathetically.  Nearby, Gus muttered something Shawn preferred to ignore.  Okay, yes, he had a huge sword jammed right through him… but needles were needles regardless of extenuating damage.

“Now, this will take a couple of minutes to start affecting you.  In the meantime, we’ll try to make you as comfortable as possible.” 

Shawn truly doubted that, short of de-swording him, anything could make him more comfortable.  Looking down, he saw one of the paramedics reach for his hand, but he couldn’t really jerk away, so he settled for gritting his teeth.  However, the touch was quite gentle, and he relaxed slightly in relief.  Then she turned over his hand, and his eyebrows rose in surprise.  His palm had a horizontal gash cutting right across the center… of course… when he’d grabbed the sword… Experimentally, he closed his right hand, and hissed when he felt pain in that palm as well. 

Several feet away, a high pitched voice spoke from the milling cluster of cops, and he turned his head slightly to see Juliet striding rapidly towards him.  When she pushed around two more officers and finally got a clear look at him, her face displayed horrified shock. 

“Oh Shawn…”  Her hand rose towards her mouth before she squared her shoulders, seeming to take control of herself.  “Tell me what I can do.”  She said softly.  Like Lassiter had done earlier, she raised one hand, hovering it near his arm, not sure where she could touch him without hurting him. 

“My face.”  He said quietly.  Nodding, she rested her hand against his cheek.  Lowering his head at her touch, he exhaled a shuddering breath.  Gus was still talking softly to Sam the paramedic, occupying himself with the discussion of pharmaceuticals in a clear effort to avoid looking at Shawn’s impaled shoulder.  Shawn didn’t really care though as Juliet’s fingers trailed across his forehead and down the side of his face again.  In a few minutes, the medics tending to his hands finished wrapping his palms and stepped away.   

He heard Sam clear his throat as he approached his side again, and Juliet moved left to give the man room. “How does the shoulder feel Shawn?”  Asked the paramedic quietly. 

Rotating his right wrist, a muscle in Shawn’s cheek jumped. “It feels a bit like there’s a sword through it…” 

Sam sighed.  “I was worried about that.  Look, I’ll be honest with you Shawn- nothing I can give you right now is going to completely deaden this sort of pain.  No matter what, this is going to hurt.” 

Shawn nodded, breathing through his nose.  After a second, he spoke.  “What do you have to do?” 

Glancing over his shoulder, Sam dipped his chin towards the group of men carrying a saw and what looked like thick blankets between them.  Gus was also watching, a frown on his face. “What about using jaws of life?  Won’t that saw take longer?”   

“I wish we could, but currently the metal on the cutters isn’t strong enough to cut through reinforced steel.  And we can’t use torches because the space behind Shawn is so narrow we’d risk burning him.” 

Shawn blinked, knowing he wasn’t going to like this next part. “Are you sure… really, really sure, you can’t just k-knock me out?”  He asked with a small voice. 

Sam was sympathetic, but firm.  In minutes, the new group of medical personnel had positioned the heavy metal saw near the space between Shawn’s shoulder and wall.  When his attacker had tried to pry the sword free earlier, he’d actually managed to loosen it slightly, creating a minor gap.  It was this gap that they were now going to use to their advantage.  Hefting the blankets also brought in along with the saw, the EMTs carefully draped them as best as they could around Shawn’s body.  It still hurt, but he did his best not to vocalize that fact.  He couldn’t prevent himself from shaking however.  And that also hurt.   

With no time to waste, the tech operating the saw donned a pair of goggles and disappeared from sight.  Seconds later, there was a deafening whine, and the edge of the saw blade touched the sword. 

There was no holding in his screams this time.  The vibration shaking the length of the sword sent violent surges of blazing agony through his upper chest and down his right side.  His eyes were shut tight, and if he cared enough to care, he’d have been embarrassed by the amount of wetness on his cheeks.  He was only partially aware that two of the EMTs had grabbed hold of his body to help keep him upright.  He did notice, though, that someone was gripping his left wrist while soft fingers traced soothingly back and forth over the back of his hand.  He turned his head slightly, choking past a raw throat, to see Juliet standing right beside him. 

Her face had bled of all color, and her own eyes looked glossy with fear, but she was also smiling at him.  He hoped the miniscule twitch of his fingers was enough to convey gratefulness.  Just behind her, Gus, also looking pale, was talking quickly into his cell.  Shawn had no illusions to whom his friend was speaking to either.  Nothing like a visit to the ER to strengthen family bonds.  Actually, he should have greeting cards printed up… 

There was a particularly hard jolt from behind, and his body was suddenly tipping forward, slowed by the four sets of hands that grabbed where there was a hold available.  He found himself whimpering again as he was eased to his knees while a backboard was brought over.  There was another needle sting, and then he felt himself eased to his left side.  Slowly, holding his breath tightly, he was rolled to his back.  The pressure burned as the sword shifted against his collarbone again.  The medics kept it as steady as possible, but there was a limit to how much they could do.   

Exhaling sharply, he managed to catch Juliet’s eyes one more time before the EMTs lifted him from the floor and raced him out of the office. 

Gus followed in their wake, snapping the phone shut as he jogged up to Shawn’s side. “I called your dad.” That was all he could manage before the medics reached the ambulance and loaded their charge inside. 

Just as the doors were closing, Gus yelled up to his friend. “I’ll meet you there!” 

And then sirens took over and they were racing away.


	2. Fortitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fortitude: Strength of mind that enables a person to encounter danger or bear pain or adversity with courage

 

His house phone rang while he was sanding down his railing.  Dusting the flakes of paint off his jeans, Henry trotted inside and caught it on the forth ring.  “Spence…” 

A static distorted scream coupled with what sounded like a power saw made him pull the phone away for a second, and he furrowed his brow.  What in the hell…?  Bringing the receiver back up, he caught the tail end of another voice, half covered by the buzzing squeal in the background.  

“Hold on, is that you Gus?  Say it again, I could barely hear you…”  Another scream was the response, and he recognized the voice creating it.  Immediately he rolled his eyes.  “Is Shawn having you call me because of a case?  Look, if he wants to talk, just…”  The scream that interrupted him for the third time stole all the strength from his legs, and he gripped the edge of the counter tightly.  _That was no act…_   The cry of agony ended in a weak sob, and Henry discovered he’d bitten the inside of his cheek till it bled. 

 _“Mr. Spencer, Shawn’s been hurt…!”_  

“Where are you!”  He demanded, turning around to grab his keys from the desk by the sliding door.  Through the phone, he could hear a muffled commotion, and the sound of something metallic clattering.  There was no response for several seconds, and then Gus was suddenly back.   

 _“They just got him free, I’m gonna follow them to the hospital!”_  

“Wait, Gus… free from what, what hospital…” 

 _“Cottage!”_   And then Gus was gone.  Dropping the phone onto the desk, Henry pushed through the door, taking only a second to lock it behind him, and ran for his truck. 

0o0o0o0o0 

Gus was waiting just outside the ER when Henry arrived.  He recognized the particular shade of Gus’s clammy skin, and quickly surmised that whatever had taken place had involved blood to some degree.  Striding up to the other man, he grabbed one arm in a tight grip and pulled him to the side. 

“What happened?”  He knew Shawn must have been trapped under something due to the phone conversation twenty minutes ago.  Anything from bike accident to building collapse was running through his mind.  But when Gus started to speak, he was tempted to stick a finger in his ear to clear his hearing. 

“A **_sword_**?  How…” he stopped himself, knowing to ask ‘how’ in regards to his son would only involve more conversation than he was willing to listen to at that point.  Instead he glanced towards the ER.  “Any word on their progress yet?” 

Gus shook his head, bracing one hand against the wall and breathing deeply.  Gus’s cell rang at that moment, and the young man shakily moved to answer it.  Before he could even flip back the cover, however, Henry plucked it from his fingers to answer it himself. 

“This is Henry Spencer.”  He said firmly, using his free hand to guide the younger man to a row of chairs away from the milling activity of the emergency room. 

“Henry… I thought…”   

He cut Karen off briskly.  “Gus isn’t up to talking right now.  I assume you’re calling about Shawn.” 

The chief’s voice was subdued as she responded.  “Lassiter told me what happened… did you get a chance to speak to his doctor yet?” 

Henry curled his free arm around his chest as he sat down, glancing once at the man sitting next to him.  “No, nothing yet.  Look, Karen, I’ll call you as soon as I hear something, okay?” 

Well used to his abrupt manner, Karen made no attempt at trying to make him feel better, and allowed him to hang up again.  Handing the phone back to Gus, Henry raised his arm to the younger man’s shoulder, giving it a soft pat before lowering his hand again and clasping both between his knees. 

There wasn’t really anything to be said. 

0o0o0o0o0 

It was eight hours and forty three minutes of dull torment before a rumpled man with a badly shaved chin found them in the waiting room, two cups of untouched coffee apiece.  

“My name is Doctor Hugh Whithouse… I understand it you’re here for Shawn Spencer?” 

Both men stood, knees popping in Henry’s case.  “Yes.”  That was about all Henry could manage as he caught sight of the doctor’s shoes, the tops of which were lightly dotted with blood.  He swallowed, and returned his gaze to Whithouse’s face as the man started speaking. 

Listening to the doctor, Henry had to give Shawn credit.  Nobody injured themselves quite like his boy.  It was an underappreciated talent for sure.  Had his throat not been constricted, he would have been tempted to say as much. 

“He’s groggy, but he’ll be awake for a few minutes at least if you’re ready to see him.” 

Henry nodded, patting Gus’s shoulder again as they followed to doctor to the ICU. 

0o0o0o0o0 

Hell wasn’t quite descriptive enough for what his son looked like.  Not even close.  In the twenty six hours since he’d last seen him, he’d gone from vibrant, bouncing off the walls spider monkey to morgue outpatient.  His eyes were dull from the medication, and sported dark patches just gothic enough to make a Manson fan jealous.  His skin was leeched of color, and what remained was leaning more towards viridian than tan.  But the biggest change, obviously, was the several layers of white bandage wrapping around the right side of his body.  The arm on that side hand been immobilized in a sling, and, moron that he was, Shawn couldn’t seem to remember that fact as he attempted to wave to the two men when they entered the room.  The quick flash of pain, however, served quite nicely in place of the scolding words waiting on the tip of Henry’s tongue.  

“Should I even ask how you’re feeling?”  Ventured Henry as he stopped next to Shawn’s bed and rested a hand on the kid’s leg.   

Shawn rolled his head back and blinked slowly, a smile widening on his face.  “Please… I’ve had slivers cause more damage than this.”  His response had a somewhat blurred edge to it, but it was completely lucid.  And about as idiotic as Henry expected from his son. 

“That a fact?  Well last time I checked, a sliver didn’t land you in surgery.” 

Shawn chuckled, his eyes moving to Gus.  When Henry glanced over, the other man appeared to be biting off a smile as well.  Wearily he covered his eyes, not really wanting to know.  Thankfully, he was spared an explanation when Shawn scratched the side of his face and yawned.   

Patting the bedcover, Gus shared a few words with his friend before heading to the door, promising to be back the next day. 

Henry, however, lingered behind, sinking into a chair next to the bed as Shawn swiped a hand across his eyes.   

“You should go dad… I’ll be f-fine…”  He yawned again, his words shuddering to a halt. 

Henry lifted his brows.  “So… what… I get a frantic call from Gus that you’re being taken to the hospital, only to arrive here to find you were stabbed with a sword… a **_sword_** Shawn?  And then, on top of that, your doctor told me that you started hemorrhaging… that they almost lost you…”  He clenched his teeth when he felt his voice start to shake.   

Staring down at his hands, he spread his fingers apart minutely before pressing the tips together.  He opened his mouth once, then shut it again with a gust of breath.  What could he possibly be expected to say?  He wouldn’t deny that he wanted to berate his son for what had happened… but… he just… he just didn’t have the strength left.  And Shawn sure as hell didn’t.  In all honesty, yelling at his broken child right now would feel a bit like drowning a kitten.  Finally, rubbing a palm across his forehead, he slowly pushed himself upright again.  He was surprised to feel moisture in his eyes, and he wiped it away self-consciously.  Damn that kid… 

Staring once up at the ceiling, he finally turned his eyes back to his son… and stopped.  Shawn was out cold, his chest rising and falling gently with the opiate-induced haze pumping through his bloodstream.   

Henry wasn’t certain when his boy had drifted off.  And really, it didn’t matter.  There was plenty of time to talk.  Besides, he wanted to give the kid as much time as it would take to heal… so that when Henry finally _did_ sit him down for a solid tongue-lashing, Shawn would have more than enough strength to lash right back. 

Finally smiling again, Henry laced his fingers through the limp ones protruding from the sling.   

He was looking forward to that.


End file.
